Mirror Images
by Amarxlen
Summary: I was going to die. I would die, and nobody could do anything about it.


**A/N: **Wow. It's been a while... I wonder how many of you check my page and curse me silently for not updating. Haha. I've kinda gotten a life... I'm still trying to write, just not fanfiction so much. I feel it's time to move on, you know? And while I continue to think of my own spins to widely known works, I'm usually not in the position to be able to write them down... Anyways, it must be clear already, but I wouldn't hold your breath waiting for me to update.

Now, about the story... This takes place after **Spirit Bound** (in bold for those of you who won't read the author's note) so it does include its fair share of spoilers and theories about **Last Sacrifice**. Rest assured, it's not just my theories, it's what I hope would be Rose's theories while she's stuck in her (Dimitri's) jail cell. This fanfic is really just her trying (and failing) to cope with her probable death. Now without further adieu, enjoy!

_Mirror Images  
Amarxlen_

I didn't have to turn to know who would be at the entrance of my cell—again, the irony rolled through me at the fact it had once been Dimitri's cell—the bond told me Lissa was drowning in another romantic interlude with Christian, and really, reason and logic told me there were very, very few people it could be. Of course, the person I wanted it to be most probably wouldn't have set foot in here, even if he was permitted to, even if he hadn't rejected me, even if his love for me hadn't _faded_. I had been so sure that had to be the case, so positive that the only person who could offer the comfort I needed was lost to me that I had turned to Adrian for that same comfort. It had been enough then and I didn't regret it now, but... Everything would be so much easier if Dimitri hadn't reverted to the very like him attitude of hot and cold towards me. At least before I could be sure he loved me. But even I couldn't deny that he being Strigoi had changed everything.

Well, not everything. I meant what I had said on the bridge when I had thought everything was over. I meant it when I told him I would always love him, Strigoi or no, his rejection of me notwithstanding. The piece of my heart that I always claimed would die with him was on life-support now, feebly beating his name into the rest of my heart like a disease, like a silver stake. Somehow I managed to crack a smile at my own horribly morbid joke. And I think that was what got the person at the entrance to my cell to finally say my name.

"Rose."

I froze in shock, the swinging of my leg off the side of the impersonal bed coming to an abrupt halt. Maybe it was a little odd, cliché, or unRoselike to be doing something so tame, instead of attempting to break through the bars or shout obscenities at the guardians, but somehow, the situation called for some _very_ unRoselike behavior. Hell, the queen and I certainly hadn't gotten along, and I _had_ called her a sanctimonious bitch, but that did not mean, even for an instant that I wanted her dead. And with the recent letter she had written for me I would much, much prefer she were alive to do some explaining. But even with all the horrible things that had happened and all that I swore would change about my relationship with Dimitri, I still couldn't stop the reaction his voice instilled in me. There was still fear and love, but the fear was only my life-support heart cringing against the rejection he doled out every day with a straight face and only anger or frustration in his voice.

I sat there, ignoring him, determined to treat him the way he had treated me when I finally got in to visit. And that was when a better idea occurred to me. Not better, exactly, but one I hoped would make him understand what I'd gone through during our first dhampir to dhampir reunion. I curled up as I remembered him sitting and wrapped my arms around my knees, turning so my back faced him.

"No." I told him defiantly, feeling inwardly smug about giving him a taste of his own medicine, even if it didn't affect him as it had me. It didn't make my situation any better, nor did it make me forget that I was to be stuck in this cell for God only knew how long while I awaited my trial. I grimaced, remembering my testimony at the hearing which now seemed brash and too Roselike to have helped my case at all. _Say God_, my inner voice said sarcastically, _would you mind speeding this up a bit? I'd like to be not crazy when I go to my trial and this cell certainly isn't helping._ Not that the copious amounts of spirit Lissa had been using helped at all either. It was startling that right now the fact that Lissa hadn't visited meant more to me than the fact that Dimitri was at my back, actively reaching out to _me_ instead of the other way around. It also said a lot about the relationship I had with Adrian that I wanted _him_ there more than Dimitri. Right now I wanted comfort, not more hot and cold, I'll protect you but my love has faded BS.

So his next words shocked me into silence, sarcasm be damned. "Are you... okay?" he asked hesitantly and I wondered if he meant if I was physically okay from when the guardians had taken me away or if I was emotionally okay from knowing that my—in retrospect short—eighteen years of life were most likely about to be ended. It didn't take long for the famous Rose Hathaway attitude to come back full force, though.

"Perfectly fine, comrade," I said, forgetting my attempts at alienating him. "In fact, I'm wondering what I should wear to this trial. Do you think they'll let me change? I was debating between red Asian wear and a classy maroon dress." I hoped my light tone frustrated him, but I wasn't about to turn around and check. Not that I would have gleaned much insight from his expressions anyways, seeing as they were practically nonexistent. But I heard that almost-not-quite-the-old-Dimitri sigh of frustration leave his lips. It made me wonder how much of him had really changed... and how much of this new Dimitri was just him torturing himself over acts he couldn't help.

"Rose, this is serious," he told me, as if I needed telling that the situation was serious. Even if I wasn't about to be put on trial for my life the death of Tatiana in itself was a _very _serious situation and I found my thoughts drifting back to contemplating who had framed me. An easy answer would be Victor Dashkov and he certainly had the motive, both for killing the queen and framing me, and even if he didn't have the bodily strength to do it himself, he had lackeys willing to do it for him. It all made sense in theory and would probably even be a slam dunk with the council... if I had the proof to back it up. Which I definitely didn't and would have no way of finding in this cell. If only the bond wasn't one-sided and I could get a message to Lissa! Then maybe she could talk to Abe, or my mother, somebody who could find out something. Maybe if I got a chance to speak at the trial I could at least plant a seed of doubt...

My hopelessness and helplessness built up into a spirit darkened rage. I could feel it roiling inside me, hear it in the savage bite to my next words. "I know how bad it is Dimitri, I don't need _you_ telling me." And then I spoke the words I knew would break his heart, at least, as long as he still cared about me the way I cared about him.

"I don't want to see you," I lied through my teeth, proud that I had made my voice come out even and steady, factual, just like his had been. I wanted this to be a mirror of my pleading with him to see reason, to understand that I forgave him and all he had to do was forgive himself. How could I not forgive him when really, the circumstances of our meeting in Siberia was my fault? I could have stayed here with Lissa, safely behind the wards of St. Vladimir's and away from him like he had wanted and then none of this would have happened. Although really, and this was about to sound very blood whore-ish, I never regretted the time we spent together while I was trapped in Galina's estate, mostly I only regretted that I couldn't kill him. And in light of recent events I didn't really regret that, either... except for all the death I had caused. So if anything he should be the one forgiving me, right? That is, if he wanted to forgive me for allowing him the not-life he had of killing people.

I didn't know if he was going to respond or not, and I didn't give him the chance to, instead continuing my mental self depreciating tirade out loud. "You do know that if I had been able to kill you, you wouldn't have had the chance to kill people, right? Hell, if I had saved you in the first place you wouldn't have even left. You'd have nothing to feel guilty over, even if I don't understand _why_ you feel guilty, cause let's face it, I'm a breath away from becoming a blood whore anyways, and I'd rather it was to you than somebody else. I wouldn't have set a new high standard for the Rose Hathaway Craziness Scale, and that's where it gets really bad. I've done... some pretty bad things lately," I admitted, still beating myself up over saving him in Las Vegas at the expense of innocent lives, still beating myself up over possibly ruining Eddie's future, and most of all feeling guilty over freeing the guy who had tortured my best friend, and who I was pretty sure somehow murdered the queen.

"So if there's anybody to forgive here, it's me. Forgive me for not saving you. Forgive me for letting you kill all those people. Forgive me for not being strong enough to keep our promise. Forgive me..." I choked out, silently berating myself for becoming so emotional. _It's spirit_, I tried to assure myself, it was just spirit taking away my bravado. But then he spoke again, and spirit was in no way to blame for the river of tears that followed his words.

"Oh Roza," he breathed, and I stiffened again, unsure of whether or not it was really him speaking or if it was just my spirit crazed imagination, dreaming up what I had wanted from him ever since he came back. Against my better judgment I turned, and that life-support part of my heart had a stroke. He stood there, face pressed against the bars, fingers tightly clenched around them, imitating Strigoi pale. His hair was disheveled and his eyes... His warm brown eyes shone at me with passion, love, and hopelessness. It was the most expression he had shown me since coming back, and it stopped my breathing and brought every second of our relationship rushing back. Tears coursed silently down my cheeks, with renewed strength, with nothing left to hold them back.

"We'll figure something out," he promised, even as his voice wavered hesitantly. "I'll talk to somebody—Lissa, or Mazur. I won't let them hurt you." Emotions warred within me—anger that he would first think of Lissa to go to for help, joy that he was finally showing me that maybe, maybe he still loved me, fear that the way he went about finding help for me would cast him back into suspicion, and love. Always, always love. But I pushed all of those down, refusing to let myself have hope, because really... there wasn't much Dimitri could do. Once, I believed he could move mountains for me. Even I had to realize that he being a Strigoi changed things. So I just gave him a winning smile.

"Sure we will, comrade. Sure we will." I paused, blinking away the tears that I had gained control of, suddenly realizing something. "How did you get down here anyways?" He gave me a heart wrenching smile as his features began to blur—I chalked that up to more tears, until he spoke again. "I didn't, Rose." And with that he was gone, not that he ran out and left, no. He was simply... gone. My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat. _Rosemarie Hathaway has officially gone off the deep end_, I thought sardonically as aching sobs wracked through my body. I had imagined him, the whole encounter... and I was going to die. I fell onto my side, sobs falling into silent tears as I slowly gave up the will to live. I was going to die. I would die, and nobody could do anything about it.


End file.
